Oriash
they promised that dreams can come true
Why is kindness a weakness? Why should caring be considered weak, when it can also be a strength? Not that Ori believes kindness is the only way, and she cannot quite imagine living in a place full to the brim of nice, but she does not find fault with kindness. After all, weren’t they all a mixture of both? Ori didn’t mind violence but she didn’t seek it, she was not a complacent mouse to be trod upon but nor was she a snake to be avoided. To be made up of brick wall upon brick wall is no more strength than to let those walls come down in the right moments.
Ori doesn’t pay much attention to Brunhilde’s tiny bit of kindness, but she doesn’t find the mare to be all hard edges. There’s a softness there, lurking somewhere that Ori doesn’t seek to touch but doesn’t doubt it’s existence. They’ve only just met, after all, even if Ori finds that she rather likes the fiery spunk of her newfound companion. Perhaps they could be friends, or perhaps they would tear each other apart, though she hopes for the former.
They are not so different, even if they don’t entirely know it yet. There is kinship to be found between them. Two mares trying to survive beneath the shadow of their parents and the weight of their families. Their means are different, but the ends are the same. Ori lacks the hard edges of Brunhilde, but both could be a force to be reckoned with in their own ways. Together they could be something indeed, better on the same side than not.
Brunhilde’s response to Ori’s last comment makes her grin, her appreciation for this mare growing. Brunhilde is not taken aback by Ori’s blunt nature, but rather seems to appreciate it. The next question is hard though, and Ori takes a moment to think about it. She is a mare of few words, but her words are thoughtful and honest when they come. “I don’t know. Not entirely. Not yet, anyway.” She could paint worlds around them, but she didn’t yet know her place in the real world. She was trying to find it, though. One day she would.
Around them, she paints a sunset, washing Loess in reds and oranges. She doesn’t know how else to explain, how else to show who she is and yet how she cannot define herself. The land beneath them changes, recalling how Aegan had built her an ocean, she does the same now. The water feels cool against their skin but refreshing, colorful fish darting in and out between their legs. Everything takes on the hue of the dying sun. Ori is a painter of the unreal and the imaginary, and that is certainly something, but it is not everything. Perhaps it will make sense to Brunhilde, and perhaps it won't, but it's the best she can do.
but they forgot that nightmares are dreams too.
@[brunhilde]
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission